


An Ordinary Morning

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mycroft smirked as his phone began to vibrate in his suit pocket, and he withdrew it as he strolled into his office. He watched Anthea settle at her desk just outside his office and open the day’s schedule on her computer before pressing the call button with a light touch.</p>
<p>“Good morning, my dear,” he drawled smoothly. </p>
<p>“Hi, Mycroft, sorry to bother you at work,” John’s voice filtered through the phone, harried and rough with sleep."</p>
<p>Drabble - Start of the day with Johncroft :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ordinary Morning

Mycroft smirked as his phone began to vibrate in his suit pocket, and he withdrew it as he strolled into his office. He watched Anthea settle at her desk just outside the door and open the day’s schedule on her computer before pressing the call button with a light touch.

 

“Good morning, my dear,” he drawled smoothly.

 

“Hi, Mycroft, sorry to bother you at work,” John’s voice filtered through the phone, harried and rough with sleep.

 

“Do not pay it any mind. You know you are always welcome to call at any time,” he purred, his smirk growing at the flustered cough on the other end.

 

“Ah, right, yes. It’s just, well—“

 

“Yes?”

 

John paused before saying, “It’s just—well, do you remember what exactly …happened to my clothes last night?”

 

Mycroft hummed thoughtfully.

 

He recalled, in delicious, vivid detail, drawing John’s light blue button-up shirt from around his lightly muscled shoulders ( _ghastly_ grey jumper already abandoned by the door) and trailing his fingers along the smooth, pale skin of his arms and back. Remembered ghosting his lips along John’s cheek before pressing a whispered “Shall we?” into his ear, nipping teasingly at his lobe, gliding his mouth down that neck and relishing in the gasped response of “Oh, God, _yes_ ” as his nimble fingers plucked the button from the fastening of his lover’s trousers and teased at the tent pressing upward to meet his touch. Then he had caught John’s mouth with his own, melding them together tightly as he pulled the zipper down the seam of the trousers, freeing the slowly thrusting hips and hard erection from within and allowing them to drop to the floor, unnoticed by their former bearer.

 

From there, they had moved to the chaise lounge by the fireplace in Mycroft’s flat where he removed the last article of clothing separating him from John’s delectable body, and the night had continued quite pleasantly indeed, all clothing entirely forgotten, until morning came when he had been forced to leave John’s side to see to the safety of Britain.

 

“I could have sworn they would just be lying on the floor around the door, since that’s where I last remember—well, you know,” John continued. “I don’t suppose the maids would have picked them up?”

 

“No, they would not have done so. They have been given explicit instructions to not disturb the room until we have both left for the day,” Mycroft noted firmly, pulling a few files to the center of the desk and flipping through them, reading their contents quickly as he listened to John’s muffled search over the phone. “Are you in a hurry, John?” He asked patiently, though he already knew the answer.

 

“Sherlock just called—evidently Lestrade’s just handed him another case. Something about another body turning up in a movie theater. Possible serial killer,” he huffed, and Mycroft could hear the sounds of his silk sheets lifting into the air as John searched the bed. “He was so excited he hung up without telling me the address and had to call back.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Mycroft replied, meeting Anthea’s gaze as she stepped quietly into the office and passed him a neatly bound pile of papers. His eyes glanced over the morning report, noting the exact time that Detective Inspector Lestrade had sought his brother’s assistance and the subsequent call to John’s phone not three minutes later at 5:34am. Sherlock had then phoned three times before John was awake enough to answer.

 

In the past, his brother had simply proceeded without his loyal blogger if he did not answer on the first ring, simply resorting to a texted demand for his presence at the earliest convenience. Now that John was spending three or four nights a week with Mycroft at his flat, Sherlock had begun to make incessant calls to John’s phone until he answered, in order to more forcefully demand his attention away from Mycroft with the added potential of annoying his brother.

 

“Of course he did,” he mused with muted exasperation. “You may borrow from my closet, if you wish, John.”

 

John sighed impatiently before saying, “Thank you, Mycroft, but the last time I did that, Sherlock and Lestrade tore the mickey out of me for days. And you’re much too tall for that; I look like a kid playing dress up, with too-long sleeves and folded trouser hems.”

 

“I thought you looked quite…charming.”

 

John chuckled dubiously. “Yeah, right. I distinctly remember some nose-wrinkling and narrowing of the eyes. I know you, Mycroft. If it’s not a three-piece bespoke, it might as well be a pillowcase with holes in it.”

 

“Certainly, I have an appreciation for the visual precision of a well-tailored suit,” he replied silkily, “However, I must admit that seeing you dressed in my shirts pleases me in a…primal way, shall we say.”

 

John paused. “Oh,” he breathed into the phone, pleased surprise in his voice. “Does it?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Mmmm…” John seemed to stall in thought, and in his mind’s eye Mycroft could see him pausing beside the bed, his hand running absently along the dark blue silk sheets and his mind replaying the immensely satisfying events of the night before. “Oh! Oh, goodness, if I don’t hurry, I’ll completely miss Sherlock at the crime scene.”

 

Mycroft listened to his frantic dithering about for a few moments before offering, “You could try the clothes in the white dresser to the right of the bed; they might fit better than my usual fare.”

 

“White dresser?” John asked. “Oh. Has this always been here?”

 

Mycroft didn’t answer, continuing to survey the reports as he listened to John shuffling over the bed and moving toward the dresser. He heard the sound of a drawer being quickly pulled open, before the line became silent.

 

“Mycroft.”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

“You destroyed my clothes, didn’t you.”

 

“Of course not, that would be wasteful. I had them taken to the local homeless shelter by St. Bartholomew’s. The volunteers there were evidently quite appreciative.”

 

“Mycroft!” John huffed, a familiar wearied anger building in his voice. “You had no right to—I liked those clothes, very much! And that jumper was a Christmas present, and a favorite of mine. I swear, you and Sherlock both--”

 

“I apologize for removing the jumper; had I known it held such importance to you, I would have considered it a bit longer.” For maybe a fraction of a second longer—it was simply too hideous and bulky to be covering his John. “I know you have an attachment to your jumpers, however much I attempt to convince you otherwise, but perhaps you would like other brands if you would try them. There’s a lovely dark blue cashmere jumper in there that would compliment your eyes.”

 

He heard John sigh, now equally exasperated with both Holmes brothers, and then place the phone down on the dresser. John hummed thoughtfully, before he spoke again. “Well, it is nice, I’ll give you that. Cashmere, you said? What brand is it— _Sunspel_?! Mycroft, you bought me a jumper from—this must have cost a small fortune.”

 

“I had them tailored as well, to ensure a perfect fit. I know you like them a bit loose, so they are not as precise as I would like them to be.” Nor were they as tight at they ought to be. The things he would do for John….

 

“I—Mycroft, this is…” John sighed, and Mycroft could hear the capitulation in his voice. He smiled to himself, immensely pleased that at the very least John would occasionally have clothing to wear on par with the comfort that he deserved. Mycroft so loved to dote on his lover but so rarely received the opportunity as a result of John’s independent and proudly self-sufficient nature.

 

“Oh, bugger it,” he finally cursed. “I’m assuming there are underwear and trousers in here somewhere as well?”

 

“Naturally.”

 

Rustling of fabrics and muffled curses ensued as John quickly drew clothing from the dresser and pulled them on. “I’m going to receive all sorts of teasing for this, you know,” he grumbled.

 

Mycroft stifled the fondness that warmed his chest at those familiar grumbles before he answered in a wry tone, “I imagine less than you might think. Sherlock will likely be relieved at the old jumper’s disappearance and approving of the taste at least, if not my involvement in the matter.”

 

“Fair enough,” John chuckled. “All right, good to go, I believe.”

 

“Excellent,” Mycroft purred again, pulling the CCTV feeds up on his computer so he could watch for John’s appearance at the crime scene. “Please do be careful in this investigation, John. I’ve grown very fond of your presence and insist upon its continued confluence with my own for quite some time to follow.”

 

“Will do,” John replied, and Mycroft could hear the grin in his voice. “And don’t you think I’ve forgotten or forgiven the kidnapping of my jumper and trousers. You’ll have some making up to do on that one.”

 

“Shall we dine at Giuseppe’s for dinner tonight? I’ve already secured a private room for seven o’clock.”

 

“Sounds great. I’m not sure exactly how this case will affect those plans, but hopefully I’ll be able to break away at a lull. And I’m getting that black forest cheesecake dessert, and maybe I’ll be tempted to share it.”

 

“Or we could order two slices to bring home and enjoy it and each other at our leisure,” Mycroft suggested.

 

“Oh, yes, let’s go with that plan,” John replied eagerly, the sound of the bedroom door closing echoing through the phone. “Well, I’m off. Talk to you soon?”

 

“Of course. Enjoy hunting down murderers, my dear,” Mycroft said.

 

“And you enjoy manipulating foreign elections and monitoring terrorist activity, love. See you soon.”

 

Mycroft smiled softly and placed the phone down on the desk, turning to look at the email Anthea had just sent with a reminder of the day’s work.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hope you liked this! Leave a comment if ya like!


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